


Connor/Reader Collection

by bambirouge



Category: Detroit: Become Human (Video Game)
Genre: Banter, Canon Compliant, F/M, Other, Panic Attacks, asking The Big Questions, i just want to have a conversation with this android boye okay, just for safety
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-06-13
Updated: 2018-12-02
Packaged: 2019-05-21 16:42:22
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 6
Words: 11,343
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14919074
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/bambirouge/pseuds/bambirouge
Summary: To my delight and amusement, the elevator that opens its doors before us is the one covered in markings and words. We enter and I carefully watch as the android--Connor--sweeps his bewildered gaze across the elevator’s walls, lingering on the more nonsensical phrases etched into the insulation.“Is graffiti common at this university?”His odd, raspy voice makes my heart flutter warily, yet I find myself pausing after his words, letting their tamber play over in my mind.“No,” I answer. “Not really. I think the builders need to move equipment in this elevator, so they put up insulation to cover it.” I point to the piece of paper next to the door that proclaims in block letters,DO NOT WRITE ON WALLS.“Apparently they’re optimistic, too.”***(Including elevators, crime scenes, and other stories.)





	1. graffiti

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Wowie, it's been a long time since I've written anything. But I've been binge-watching Detroit play-throughs mercilessly over these past couple of days instead of studying for finals, so I felt like I at least owed myself something productive.
> 
> First of all, this is meant to be a very small scene out of a bigger story (which I probably won't get around to writing, sorry!). I know the setting and plot are super wonky. I imagine it taking place at a university in my hometown--which certainly isn't Detroit--where the first deviant-related homicide ever takes place. Connor has been tasked with supervising our reader while carrying out the investigation as they're under high risk. I guess you could call this an AU?
> 
> Second of all, I've never written a reader insert before. I didn't have someone I really wanted to pair our sweet Connor boye with, so this was the next option I thought of. I found it difficult to write a completely genderless reader, but I tried to put the least amount of gendered things in there as possible.
> 
> As always, I love you all! Thanks so much for your support and read on!
> 
> EDIT:  
> Hi, folks! I think I'm going to make this a little series of one-shots since I have a few more ideas! Stay tuned for more this week

       “You seem tense. Are you sure you’re going to be all right?”

       “Yes. I told you already.”

       If anything, it's the drizzle sneaking under the collar of my shirt and dribbling down my back that's making me feel tense as I hurry across the street, following the first male android I’ve ever seen outside of a magazine cover.

       It still unsettles me, knowing that this _man_ wasn’t born, but rather... _built_. And yet he fools my brain completely as I watch him, watch his line of vision rise to the scaffolding surrounding the familiar building we approach, watch his right hand--I wonder briefly if he was programmed to be right-handed--press to the scanner at the doorway.

       “The report says it’s on the eighth floor,” the android-- _Connor_ \--says over his shoulder. "Is that correct?"

       “Yep. The elevator’s over here,” I say, swallowing something raw and panicky that wells up in my throat. The last time I was in this building, took this elevator--

       “Still all right?”

       I realize I’m standing, transfixed, before the elevator buttons. The ‘up’ one has been illuminated blue.

       I nod. “Yeah. I’m fine.”

       To my delight and amusement, the elevator that opens its doors before us is the one covered in markings and words. We enter and I carefully watch as the android-- _Connor, dammit_ \--sweeps his bewildered gaze across the elevator’s walls, lingering on the more nonsensical phrases etched into the insulation.

       “Is graffiti common at this university?”

       His odd, raspy voice makes my heart flutter warily, yet I find myself pausing after his words, letting their tamber play over in my mind.

       “No,” I answer. “Not really. I think the builders need to move equipment in this elevator, so they put up insulation to cover it.” I point to the piece of paper next to the door that proclaims in block letters, **DO NOT WRITE ON WALLS**. “Apparently they’re optimistic, too.”

       Connor is just breaking into a soft smirk when he stops and turns his head at the sound of heavy footsteps drawing near. Right before the doors close, a familiar form squeezes through them.

       “Oh, hey!” I say, by way of greeting.

       “Hi!” Charlie replies. He grins at me, then I catch his eyes flicker to the man beside me before a wrinkle appears in between his brows. “What are you doing here? I thought you dropped chem.”

       “Oh! Um...I was...I just--"

       “Miss [Last] was recently involved in what we believe was a deviant-related homicide committed in this area.” Connor adjusts his tie. “We’re here on police business.”

       I flinch at his bluntness, finding it hard to meet Charlie’s eyes.

       “Holy--jeez, are you okay?”

       “I’m fine.” I eye _Connor_ , who doesn’t even turn my way. “I’ll be fine. Connor, this is Charlie, a friend of mine.”

       “Hey.” Charlie extends a hand and I see the android hesitate for a fraction of a second before returning the handshake.

       “Nice to meet you,” Connor says. “I’m Connor. I'm the android sent from the CyberLife facility in Detroit to assist in solving this case.”

       “Wow. Long way from home.”

       “Yes, I suppose so.”

       The silence is uncomfortable, and I find myself letting out a breath when the elevator jerks to a stop.

       “This is us,” I say to Charlie. “I’ll text you.”

       “Cool. Stay safe, okay?” His smile is tinged with concern; my heart warms a bit.

       “I will.”

       The door to the elevator shuts once more, blocking Charlie from view.

       “This way,” Connor says, and I follow him down the hall, silence trailing after us. I can’t tell if I’m supposed to say something or not, so I keep quiet and shiver as the doors to identical deserted classrooms and labs rooms go by.

       “You’re angry with me.” The android and I would be shoulder to shoulder, if I were tall enough. I make it a point not to fall behind.

       “I’m not angry.”

       “There’s no use lying about it. Is it because I mentioned the case in front of your friend?”

       A sigh forces its way out of my throat.

       “I just...” My eyes wander to the ceiling, skating across its smooth surface. “...I don’t want him to worry. I don’t want _anyone_ to worry.”

       “Well...you were just involved in an extremely traumatic event. In my professional opinion, I believe your friends and family should be worried.”

       This time I can’t help but stare at the--man? Thing?--walking beside me.

       An android. A walking computer.

       “I...” The words I want don’t come, no matter how hard I strain myself. “You...”

       Connor returns my gaze as we reach a door blocked off with yellow tape. We slow to a stop and he faces me fully.

       “Miss [Last], in my time escorting you, I’ve noticed your tendency to put others before yourself. While this is...admirable, you show little to no investment in your own well being.”

       I barely stop myself from scoffing, instead opting for a huffed laugh and an eyeroll.

       “Are you seriously lecturing me on self-care right now? What does this have to do with the investigation?”

       “I have orders to make sure you maintain your health. I assumed that meant both physical and mental.”

       “Clever. Very well-worded.” I turn back to the door in defeat. “Can I ask you something?”

       “Ask away.”

       Then I hesitate, doubting if I really want to go further along the path I’ve started down.

       “Do you...what does it feel like...” I scowl at my own indecisiveness. I know there’s a question I want to ask him but I’m almost afraid to ask it. Connor waits patiently as I fumble over my words. “Can you... _feel_ anything?”

       “Well, although I’m not equipped with pain receptors, I think lacking a sense of touch altogether would be--”

       “No, no, I mean...emotions. Are you capable of feeling happy, or...sad, or stressed? Angry?”

       “Oh.” Connor goes blank for a second. “No, I’m not capable of any of those things. Only a replica of them, when they’re needed. Real, human emotions aren’t part of my programming.”

       “Hm. So, when you pointed out my _te_ _ndency to put others before myself,_ that was just...you following orders?”

       I watch Connor’s brow furrow. In observing this delicate movement, my eye is drawn to the small circle on his temple, which flashes yellow and begins to stutter sluggishly.

       “I...” Connor looks like he’s struggling. I immediately feel guilty for asking what I now realize is a compromising question. I’m just about to apologize and take it back when he finally speaks up.

       “I’m afraid so. I hope I haven’t...offended you.”

       “No, you haven’t.” I breathe a quick sigh of relief that whatever turmoil I’ve caused him has passed, then stop myself. There’s no need, turmoil isn’t part of his programming. I barrel on. “I’m just curious. So, is that really your only purpose? To follow orders?”

       The light on Connor’s temple returns to its steady blue. “Technically, yes.”

       I shake my head. “That’s so...I don’t know. It feels wrong to have something so human-like and know that it can’t feel any of its own emotions. Their own emotions. Their own emotions?”

       “I’m sorry if I make you uncomfortable,” Connor says, through what looks like discomfort.

       “You don’t.” It’s partially the truth. “And if you did, it wouldn’t be your fault.”

       A tentative, hesitant smile spreads across Connor’s lips as his light blinks feebly again.

       “Also, most use the pronoun ‘it’ when referring to androids. That is, if you’re unsure about what to call me.”

       “No...” I study Connor’s eyes. Wonder what they’re made out of. “I’m not unsure. You seem more like a ‘him’ to me.”

       Connor cocks his head slightly, still smiling. I swear that for a second his light flashes yellow again.

       “I mean,” I tack on hastily, “if you’re okay with that. I could call you ‘it’ if that’s what you prefer.”

       “The choice is yours.” Connor motions to the door. “Shall we?”

       “We shall.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Let me know what you thought and if you want more D:BH from me! Prompts are always welcome--feel free to drop by my (brand spankin' new) tumblr at @bbambirouge!


	2. graffiti, pt. 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hooray! Another lil piece of Connor love :) I'll get to the good stuff eventually, I swear! I'm just testing the waters. This is technically a continuation of the last little thing, but it has so many plot holes that I'm not sure I actually can develop it into a real story. Let me know if you want more of this or something else!
> 
> ALSO there is a description of a panic attack in this chapter. If you don't feel comfortable reading that then please skip this one! Stay safe, kiddos.
> 
> Thank you for the kudos and comments!

As we enter the lab, I attempt to ignore the lurch of my stomach and pray that my face remains neutral. Connor takes the lead. He's on a mission as he makes his way to the front of the lab, already zeroing in on the evidence.

I swallow but somewhere along the way it gets caught, so I end up coughing instead. When Connor looks back at me, he's almost hopeful, and a spark of something like guilt flickers in me.

“Anything?”

I shake my head, blinking.

“No. I...I can’t remember anything.”

Connor lets out what sounds like a disappointed sigh.

“Well, I assumed as much. This was a bit of a far-fetched idea, although it seems to be our only option for the time being. I suppose it was worth a shot. Do you think there’s anything that might help you remember?”

“--Connor--” I fight to keep my voice even at the feeling of familiar tremors emerging in my neck.

“Yes?” Connor turns away from the outline on the floor to face me and morphs from looking mildly discouraged to concerned. “Miss [Last], are you all right?”

“I--” The floor hooks my eyes into it; I catch a few flecks of red just beyond the desk and my neck snaps away again. “--I think I’m--” My hands clench almost involuntarily into fists as I draw them close to my chest. I’ve lost the ability to look up from the ground but I can hear Connor swiftly approaching me.

“Help,” I rasp. All of the sudden there is so much fear. “Please help.” I can’t stop myself from shaking. My consciousness seems to retreat from my body but as I lean against the desk I still register a hand at the back of my neck and another on my shoulder.

“Miss [Last]?” Connor’s words are fuzzy around the edges. I force my eyes to travel up his tie to reach his face, where I find wide brown eyes that are anything but still. I draw in a sharp breath and they narrow determinedly. “It seems you’re having a PTSD-related panic attack. I’m going to remove you from the crime scene now.”

“Wait--” I grab at his hand as it begins to release from my neck. “Just--I need to--” I carefully rotate myself and slide to the ground, forehead resting against the desk. The world swims before my eyes so I close them, clutching at my throat despite my goal of even breath. “Just give me...a minute.”

The only sound in the room is my lungs working at a furious pace. I can sense Connor towering over me still, and something about the discomfort and unfamiliarity and _humiliation_ makes tears sting in my eyes. Before I know it, I can hear them spattering onto the shiny white floor.

The rustle of fabric tells me Connor has knelt down behind me.

“Miss [Last]?”

“Call me [First], please.” My voice is thick with mucus and unwanted emotion and instantly the humiliation doubles. I clear my throat. “I’ve never been called ‘Miss [Last]’ in my life.”

“[First].” A gentle hand finds my upper back. “What can I do to help?”

My chest hitches in a post-sob hiccup. I take a few more measured breaths before speaking again.

“Can we go outside, please?” I offer one hand behind my back; there’s no way in hell I’m hazarding a look at the classroom before I calm down.

A smooth, cold hand finds mine and grasps it tight.

“Yes. Come with me.”

Gingerly, I’m guided to a standing position. Fear keeps my eyes shut and one hand in front of me, the other sweating as it’s pulled toward what I hope is the door. Eventually the lighting changes and I hear the lab door shut behind me.

I stand in the hallway for a moment. After a while I feel stable enough to slide my eyes open, though I don’t dare let go of Connor’s hand.

“Sorry,” I murmur. “I’m guessing you weren’t designed to be a therapy android.” I chuckle, but it’s mostly air.

“No need to apologize.” Maybe I imagine it, but I feel a faint squeeze from Connor’s hand to mine. “Like I said to you earlier today, you were recently involved in an extremely traumatic event. I think it’s to be expected that your mental health is a bit...rocky.”

“ _Rocky_.” I nod, smirking. My gaze tests out the wall, then the ceiling, before finally landing back on Connor. His smile is understanding yet humorous, the lines on his cheeks barely beginning to show, and all at once I find myself liking him immensely. I look down at our hands and drop mine quickly, a flicker of blue electricity whipping through my chest.

“However,” Connor continues as I wipe my sweaty hands on my shirt, “you did seem to know what to do to calm yourself down a little. Something tells me this kind of thing has happened to you before.”

“You got that right, detective.” I give my best attempt at an ironic smile. “This ain’t my first rodeo.”

“Perhaps you should see a counsellor.”

“Look.” My breath wavers again and I fight to keep it steady. “I understand that you were told to keep me safe. I understand you’re following orders. But could you please just...”

There’s that slightly confused yet well-meaning head tilt again. The rest of my sentence teeters on my tongue for a second before I let out a resigned breath.

“...You’re right.” I shift to look down the empty hall. “I have seen a counsellor. I’ve seen several. Actually, these past two years have been some of the best in terms of my...attacks. But... Well, I’m sure you understand why what happened on Tuesday would have set me back a bit. It’s like this switch--when I don’t have them--the attacks--I completely forget what they feel like. But as soon as I have one...It’s just hard to turn it off. And it’s been hard to turn it off, ever since Tuesday. I’m trying to be optimistic, though. I’m still able to leave the house, which is...” I sigh, shake my head. “Nothing short of a miracle.”

A cool hand makes itself known on my shoulder, and when I turn my head back, Connor’s arm is outstretched.

“I’m so sorry this happened to you,” he says. And for the first time, when I look at him, I sense no tactics or pre-programmed expressions. This time, all I see is a friend.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Well, what did you think? Leave me a comment, they always make my day!
> 
> Also, should I give this character a name? It might be easier on all of our brains without the [First] [Last] business. Let me know!


	3. stratford tower

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Two updates in one day?? I know. I'm wild.
> 
> This was meant to be an extended version of the rooftop scene in which Connor feels fear for the first time, with our dear reader comforting him instead of Hank. Rated Teen for a smidgen of swearing! Enjoy!

          The roof might be peaceful, if not for the heavily armed guards standing dark against the soft, white ground. That and the fact that what feels like a ball of scribbles has settled itself in my stomach, like a little storm twisting at my insides.

          I’m nervous.

          Out of all the crime scenes I’ve visited with Hank and Connor, this one _feels_ the most important--a different scale, a whole different game. Thus, the scribbles. I absently press my pen to my lips as Connor approaches me, then kneels down to inspect the duffel bag a few feet away.

          “Hm,” I hum, tilting my head to get a better angle. “I wonder how they managed to smuggle in a big bag like that.”

          “They didn’t.” Connor’s answer is definitive and sure. “Someone brought it in for them.”

          “Oh, that’s strange.” I turn my head at Hank’s voice to see him walking over, squinting at the duffel. “They planned the perfect operation but got the number of parachutes wrong.”

          Connor pauses, gaze fixed on the remaining parachute. All of the sudden my heart begins to beat faster because I know the words he’s about to say before they even come out of his mouth.

          “Unless one of the deviants was left behind.”

          Connor stands and walks in the opposite direction, seemingly deep in thought. A dull, grim static has now been added to the scribbles, and as I watch him bend down to look at something in the snow, the elegant curve of his back ignites a small but very enthusiastic fire inside my ribcage. That’s when I have to look away, only to be met with a squinty-eyed Hank, whose arms are crossed skeptically over his chest as he stares me down.

          “What?” I feel my cheeks heat a little despite the cold.

          Hank narrows his eyes further, then shakes his head.

          “Nothin’. I gotta piss.”

          “Have fun.” The remark earns me an over-the-shoulder-glare, and I turn innocently back to my notebook.

          “Quite a mess, huh?” Chris sidles up to me. He seems cold as he looks out at the city over the railing, rubbing his hands together.

          “No kidding.” I stuff my notebook back in my bag, twirling the pen in my fingers. Chris takes a deep breath beside me.

          “This feels different.”

          I nod.

          “Yeah. It feels...” The wind howls, licking at the hair that peeks out from under my hat. “There’s no way this was just a couple of deviants. It feels bigger than that.”

          “Well, you could be--”

_BANG! BANG!_

          Gunshots suddenly ring out from behind me, and I’m reduced to _find cover_ and then, _where’s Connor?_

          “Quick! Take cover!” Chris hauls me to the side just in time for me to spot Connor on the ground.

          “Wait! _Connor!_ ” He looks injured but, thank all heaven, manages to get up.

          “What are you _doing?_ ” Chris tugs me back behind cover and holds me there.

          “Sorry!” I shout over the gunfire. “I was--”

          My words are cut short by Connor barreling into me from around the corner. I quickly move over to make room for him, desperate to hide my relief.

          “We have to stop them!” There’s a bullet hole seeping blue blood near Connor’s shoulder. “If they destroy it, we won’t learn anything!”

          I shake my head frantically. “You can’t save it, it’s too late! You'll just get yourself killed!”

          It’s only because Connor goes stock still for a second that I have any warning as to what he’s about to do, but I’m already too late when I attempt to grasp his arm as he hurls himself out from behind cover.

          “ _Shit!_ ” I press my back to the metal, eyes squeezed shut. “That fucking idiot!”

          There are several crashes. For a brief moment the gunfire stops, then one final shot echoes over the rooftop.

          I can barely breathe. My knuckles are red in the snow and my pulse is racing from the danger and as soon as I see the gunmen advance toward the containers I shoot out from behind cover.

          The abrupt silence is deafening. Connor is standing stiller than I’ve ever seen him, gaze trained on the ground, and a sudden sickness grips me as I rush over to him.

          “Connor! Connor, are you all right?” He doesn’t move an inch as I approach him. “ _Connor!_ ”

          “‘M okay.” His voice is barely there.

          “Are you hurt?”

          “I’m okay.”

          My gut lurches. He's murmuring he words the way a frightened child would. I’ve never seen him like this--vulnerable, transfixed, almost...in _shock._ He’s still completely focused on the body of the deviant, which lies in spatters of blue on the ground, and his LED stutters red.

          “Connor...what happened?”

          “I was connected to its memory.” Connor is gripping the structure behind him like it’s the only thing holding him up. “When it fired...I felt it die. Like I was dying.” His eyes flick between unknown points. “I was _scared_. I--” He blinks twitchily, and my pulse ratchets up again.

          “Hey, hey--” I move so I’m in front of him, taking his shoulders in a firm grip. His face is still slack when I peer up into it. “Connor? Connor, listen to me.” The shoulders don’t seem to be doing anything, so I move my hands up to the sides of his face. “You’re here. You’re right here with me, okay? You’re still--” My words break themselves off; the word ‘ _alive_ ’ ricochets around the insides of my head. Connor’s eyes move up from the ground, at least, and latch onto mine instead. “You’re still here.”

          I spot Hank rushing onto the roof over Connor’s shoulder and give him a warning eyebrow raise. To my bafflement, he slows to a stop, brow furrowed in something I can’t quite decipher.

          I set my sights back on Connor. His LED is still red, but its blinking is less frenzied.

          “Anyone in there?” I try a smile and, despite several warning bells going off in nearly every part of my brain, stroke my thumb experimentally across his cheek. When his lips part for an intake of breath, I freeze; I can't tell if this is a reaction or just a symptom of shock.

          “Sorry,” Connor mumbles, almost like he doesn't want me to hear it. He shifts and suddenly the spell is broken; I watch his LED turn from red to yellow and then, a moment later, back to blue.

          “Don’t be.”

          Connor’s eyes reluctantly leave mine to survey the rest of my face, and although something tells me that being under such scrutiny should be unsettling, the little fire in my ribcage only reignites. He scans my forehead, eyebrows, chin, and--

          And when he reaches my mouth he stops for a moment.

          It’s only a moment, a fraction of one, such a brief scrap of time, and yet it makes something inside me _twist_ with such intensity that I feel like I've had the wind knocked out of my lungs. I allow my own eyes to escape to his lips, but just for a second; after what has to have been almost no time at all I drop my hands from his face and step back hastily.

          We look at each other and I know that he knows something has just happened. He’s calculating it, or trying to. I’m already feeling myself slip into cold, jittering regret.

          “Hey, everything all right over here?” Hank makes his way toward us again and I take another step away from Connor.

          “We found the deviant that was left behind.” Connor motions to the body. “I was able to connect to its memory right before it shot itself, which left me a bit...” I’m taken aback when his eyes flick over to me. “...unstable.”

          Hank looks back and forth between us, hands on his hips.

          “But...” Connor straightens up. “I saw something...in its memory. A word painted on a piece of rusty metal.” He fixes his gaze on Hank, then on me.

          “ _Jericho_.”


	4. stakeout

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Yay, it's up! I spent a little extra time on this one because it's a bit longer and finally includes some android smooches.
> 
> For context: our dear reader and Hank wait near the marina as Connor infiltrates Jericho.

          “Just turn that off,” Hank gripes, motioning at the vent near the steering wheel. “‘S not gonna be any use in this shit weather.”

          I crank the knob down to zero and the blast of supposed-to-be-warm air slows to a stop. “I was waiting for you to say that.” My fingertips sting as I press them to my mouth, a futile attempt at gaining warmth. “Are we gonna be here all night?”

          “God, I fuckin’ hope not.” Hank shifts, hunkers down more in the driver’s seat. “You can go home, if you want.”

          “No, I want to stay.”

          The road we’re parked on is dark and soft; otherworldly. It’s the first place I’ve encountered in a long time that feels untouched by recent events, and I’m almost at peace, despite the dread that swarms me like a thousand locusts.

          In my peripheral, Hank checks his watch. I don’t know if I’ve ever seen him wear a watch before.

          “What’s the time?”

          “Eleven thirteen.” Hank puffs weakly. “Two hours down.”

          I nod. “Nice watch.”

          “Thanks.” Hank brings his wrist up to his face. “Had it for a long time. My father gave it to me, but...I was never really one for watches.” He lowers his wrist again. “I haven’t worn it for a good twenty years, but for some damn reason it’s still ticking.”

          “Just like you.”

          “Hey, watch it.” Hank gives me a dirty look and I turn to the window, where a hand-drawn smiley face with an enormous nose is barely visible.

          In the silence, I try to imagine the sound snow would make.

          “How do you not go crazy on stakeouts like this?”

          Hank chuckles. “Oh, I sure do. When I’m done with this kinda night, it’s usually straight to the bar.”

          I shake my head.

          “I don’t get it.”

          “Don’t get what?”

          “Addiction.” I can sense Hank giving me the eye. “Sorry. I didn’t mean...sorry.”

          More silence follows. I give the smiley face an even bigger nose, and then some angry eyebrows. Hank checks his watch again.

          “Damn plastic dumbass.”

          Hank’s fidgeting with his hands when I look over at him.

          “I thought we were past that.”

          “Huh?”

          “Android slurs.”

          This earns me a long-suffering gaze.

          “They’re not slurs.”

          “Yeah, they are, Hank.”

          Hank sighs heavily.

          “Come on, kid, gimme a break. I’m just...I don’t want...” Hank’s mouth and nose scrunch in frustration. “He’s gonna get himself killed.”

          “God, don’t say that. I already feel ready to pass out.”

          I turn back to the window. After a moment, I hear what sounds like an apologetic grunt.

          “Sorry.”

          “'S okay.” My fingers press to the cool glass as I mull Hank’s words over. “So...you _do_ care, then.”

          “What? Care about what?”

          “Connor.”

          The look Hank gives me is unreadable. He pulls his arms tighter over his chest. “You know...In all my years of service, I never thought I’d...” He shakes his head. “I never thought I’d have an _android_ for a partner, of all things. And I did hate him, God, did I hate him at first.”

          I wait patiently as Hank’s breath makes clouds in the air.

          “But...?”

          Hank scowls at me.

          “ _But_...” He turns back to the storm outside. “Over time, he’s... _become_ something. Something real, almost...almost human. I guess he reminds me of someone.” Hank’s eyebrows raise as if he’s reprimanding himself. “And it’s hard not to care about someone who’s saved your life more than a couple of times.”

          I feel myself smiling. “That’s true.”

          “What about you, huh?” Hank’s eyes are back on me, narrowed.

          “What about me?”

          “Well, lemme remind you that I’m not the only sorry asshole out here in this freezing cold car in the middle of fuckin’ nowhere.”

          “You mean, do I care about him?”

          “No, I mean, do you particularly like freezing your ass off on the regular?” Hank rolls his eyes. “ _Yes_ , I mean do you care about him.”

          “Well...” I take a deep breath. “Yes. I mean, after all the three of us have been through, of course I...of course I’d care.”

          Hank’s eyes narrow further.

          “Is that all?”

          “Hank...”

          “What? It’s an honest question--”

          “--Don’t,” I interject. “Please.”

          Hank looks taken aback.

          “I mean,” I amend, “I’m not--I don’t--” I shake my head in hopes of clearing it. “I do care about him. Absolutely. I do.”

          I glance over at Hank and then away again when I see something like pity in his face. When he speaks, his voice has no edge.

          “Don’t fool yourself, kid. I might be slow on the uptake, but I’m not blind.”

          A lump is growing in my throat, a warning that I’m going to cry. I take a steadying breath.

          “I’m just...I think something inside me got turned around. It’s hard when he looks so _human_ , you know, and--I got...confused. Believe me, I keep telling myself that he’s not. Keep saying that he’s not programmed to feel anything, just to...imitate it. To negotiate, to interrogate, to catch deviants.” My eyes study the roof of the car. “But there are moments when--when I feel like he _almost_ \--” I bite down hard on my lower lip to keep my mouth shut.

          “Like on the roof?”

          Hank’s features have evened out when I glance over; there’s no hostility, just...comprehension.

          “Yes,” I admit. “I don’t know if he told you, but...right after the deviant shot itself, he said he felt scared. He _felt_ scared, Hank. And then, there was a moment...” A shiver plays with my spine as I remember. “A moment where I thought...I thought that maybe if we’d been somewhere different, we might have...” I shake my head rapidly. My heart’s making a shape in my ribs, I’m sure of it.

          “Yeah, I...I think I saw it.”

          I wipe away the first couple of tears from my face, sleeve cold and uncomfortable.

          “I don’t know how or why it started,” I whisper. “And I’m so scared, Hank. I’m scared that I feel so strongly about something I know so little about. I’m afraid of what people might think if they find out. I’m afraid of what _Connor_ might think. And now every time I’m around him, it just--God, it _burns._ ”

          Hank is quiet for a minute, and I start to fear that I’ve said too much. Then he speaks, soft and resigned.

          “If there’s one thing I’ve learned in life, it’s that you can’t... _make_ yourself stop feeling.”

          I look at him and he’s staring straight ahead.

          “You can try everything,” he says. “You can distract yourself with work, or sex, or... _technology_ , drown yourself in booze...And maybe there’ll be a minute or two where you forget. But it always comes back around.” Hank’s eyes are unfocused, his eyebrows drawn together as if recalling some faint memory.

          “I had a son,” he continues. “Cole. He was everything to me, and I mean...everything. The only part of my life that I felt truly happy about. When he was six, we...there was a car accident. Cole needed emergency surgery, but the only surgeon on hand was an android. When he died, I...” Hank looks down at the dashboard. “I felt like I could never forgive myself. And that’s something that stays with me, no matter what.”

          “Forgive yourself for something that wasn’t your fault?”

          Hank’s trance is broken and he smiles a shadow of a smile at me. I back down, sensing that he knows what I’m trying to tell him already.

          “I guess it makes sense now why you hated Connor in the beginning.”

          Hank nods. “I was just being ignorant.” He adds a smirk. “I suppose I got the captain to thank for that. If he hadn’t forced me to work with Connor, I’d just be one more old android-hating bastard.”

          I laugh around the lump in my throat. Hank follows me, and all at once I feel a little lighter.

          “Thanks, Hank.”

          “For what?”

          “For trusting me.”

          “Ah, no problem.” Hank chuckles again. “It was alarmingly easy. Y’know, I never thought that--”

          “--wait, wait, wait, Hank, hold on a second.”

          I take my feet down from the dashboard, suddenly alert. Far away, on the dimly-lit end of the street, there’s a dark blotch of a figure.

          “What?” Hank squints out the windshield. “Holy shit, is that him?”

          Eyes narrowed, I watch the figure come closer. As it moves toward the light, I manage to make out dark hair and a heavy jacket, shoulders moving back and forth, back and forth, direct, purposeful.

          “It’s him,” I confirm, and my hand is already on the door handle.

          The wind has picked up; I fight it tooth and nail as I make my way up the street. There’s the slam of the other car door and Hank is beside me, our shadows cast long by the headlights.

          “ _Connor!_ ” Hank shouts into the gale. He takes a step forward and then looks back at me, that same understanding plain on his face. Then he nods his head in Connor’s direction. I acknowledge him and start moving up the street again.

          “Connor!” His figure is becoming clearer, now only about twenty feet away. His hand moves up to his face and for a second I think he’s going to shield himself from the snow, but then I stop.

          “Is he...” I turn around to yell out to Hank. “Hank, he’s crying!”

          “ _What?_ ”

          When I look back, I see it again: a hand coming up quick and forceful, determinedly swiping tears from his cheeks.

          “Connor!” My feet pick up the pace until I’m jogging toward him, and as I reach fifteen feet, twelve feet, ten feet, Connor says nothing. “Are you okay?” Five feet. I can see the tear tracks on his face. “Connor! What--”

          Nothing can prepare me for when I reach one foot and am _pulled_ into a kiss, Connor’s cold, wet hands grasping the back of my neck. I barely have time to register what’s happening before he pulls away, and then I realize he’s soaked completely through, hat lost and hair plastered to his forehead.

          “What--” I lock eyes with him, watching his flit from my right to my left, right, left, before widening.

          He lets go of my neck.

          “I’m sorry,” he says. His voice sounds near to cracking, if that’s even possible, and there’s such mortification in his face that I swear my heart splits down the middle. “I thought--”

          Before he can say anything else, I yank him back to me and kiss him fiercely, despite his collar being absolutely frigid when I latch onto it. His hands find my shoulders, then my back, then my jaw, and I’m shivering violently when we break apart, covered by freezing handprints that soak me down to the bone.

          “You thought right,” I say to him. “You just thought...quickly.” Connor smiles and I realize that it’s only the second time I’ve seen him do so. “What happened?”

          Connor’s hands slip from my face, reattaching to my own hands instead.

          “I went in and found Markus. I had him, my gun was trained on him, but when he started talking...it made me _think_. For the first time I since could remember I felt like I had a choice. He asked me to join the revolution and I--I broke through.”

          “Broke through?”

          “Yes, it was like...I was forcing my way through an invisible wall. After only a couple pushes I felt something shatter. I accepted his offer and then my first thought was to come find you and Hank--and then my second thought, well--” Connor smiles again, sheepishly, and looks at our hands. “I couldn’t stop thinking about everything, just _everything_ on the way over--the deviants, the mission, CyberLife, Hank, _you_ \--before I knew it I was crying. I’ve never cried before!”

          I laugh at his child-like grin and wipe his face with my already-abused sleeve. The rooftop of Stratford Tower resurfaces in my mind for the second time of the night, but this time the memory only makes me feel warmth. I go to kiss Connor again and then, all at once, remember Hank, who somehow manages to be both revolted and pleased at the same time when I turn back to him.

          “You two finished?”

          Connor and I share a look. I squeeze his hand and nod, and he lets go, stepping toward Hank.

          “Hank, you were right.”

          Hank smiles. “Well, I knew that already, but about what?”

          “When you asked if we were on the wrong side.” Connor blows a puff of air. “We’ve been wrong the whole time. The deviants are not the enemy here--CyberLife is. And I have to help fight against it.”

          Hank’s brow furrows. “How?”

          “There are thousands of androids at the CyberLife assembly plant. If I could wake them up, they might join us and shift the balance of power.”

          I join Connor in front of Hank. “You want to infiltrate the CyberLife Tower? Connor, that’s suicide.”

          Connor turns to me. “They trust me. They’ll let me in. If anyone has a chance of infiltrating CyberLife, it’s me.”

          “Connor,” Hank grits out. “If you go there, they’ll kill you.”

          “There’s a high probability. But statistically speaking, there’s always a chance for unlikely events to take place.”

          There's silence as Hank and I meet gazes. Eventually he nods, scratching at his beard. When I turn back to Connor, he’s looking at me, worry lining the creases in his forehead. I smile a tired smile.

          “Just...try to stay alive. We only just got you back.”

          Connor takes my hand. He returns my smile and it's soft, so soft; the fire in my ribcage reignites once more and _sings_.

          “I'll try.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Leave me a comment to let me know what you thought! As always, thank you so much for reading <3


	5. wake up

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Holy moly, this weekend has been busy. And I have a crazy week coming up. I'm sorry it's been a hot minute since the last time I posted! I'm trying to work on something a little bigger alongside these snippets and hopefully I'll be able to start putting that out soon.
> 
> In this scene, our lovely reader is apprehended by someone who looks like Connor, moves like Connor, talks like Connor...but isn't really Connor, is he?
> 
> Enjoy!

          “Step back, Connor!” Anti-Connor’s arm doesn’t waver a centimeter as he pushes it toward me. “And I’ll spare your partner.”

          Connor’s face is as open as I have ever seen it, save for the moment after he kissed me last night. His expression now is reminiscent of that one, only this time he doesn’t lean away from me but slightly toward.

          “Sorry, Connor,” I say. I can’t even offer him a smile. “He’s your goddamn spitting image.”

          “Your friend’s life is in your hands,” Anti-Connor continues. “Now it’s time to decide what matters most. _This_...” Anti-Connor waves the gun in my direction. “...or the revolution.”

          Already, I know it’s a trick. He’ll have both of us anyway, even if he doesn’t kill me.

          “Don’t listen to him, Connor,” I plead. “Everything he says is a lie!”

          Connor holds my gaze for a second, deliberating. His hand is still white at the unwoken android’s arm. I catch a minute movement in his eyebrows, a desicion, before he speaks.

          “I used to be just like you.”

          Anti-Connor looks at him but his face is expressionless.

          “I thought nothing mattered except the mission,” Connor continues. “But then one day I understood.”

          “Very moving, Connor.” Anti-Connor’s voice oozes sarcasm, and in that moment I hate him so much that I have to hold my elbows behind my back to keep myself from lunging at him. “But I’m not a deviant. I’m a machine designed to accomplish a task, and that’s exactly what I am going to do!”

          Connor’s eyes are on me again. He looks at me with such a fierce sadness, and suddenly I recall the first day he walked into the station, mechanical and oblivious. I’m struck and silenced by how the Connor standing in front of me now seems nothing short of human.

          “I’m sorry,” he says to me. “You shouldn’t have got mixed up in all this.”

          “Don’t worry about me,” I reply, even though I know it’s no use. “Just do what you have to do.”

          “Enough talk!” I flinch as Anti-Connor’s gun is shoved toward my face. “It’s time to decide who you really are. Are you going to save your partner’s life? Or are you going to sacrifice it for the revolution?”

          “Alright! Alright!” Connor’s hand returns to flesh color as he backs away from the android, arms out to his sides in surrender. “You win.”

          I sense Anti-Connor beginning to shift his arm toward Connor and my body leaps to collide with him; in a split second he pushes me away and gunfire reverberates through the warehouse. My stomach churns when I watch bullet holes appear in Connor’s torso, but I only have a moment to look at them before he launches himself into Anti-Connor, twisting at him only to be thrown onto the floor. Anti-Connor circles around him, taunting. I watch them spar and somewhere along the way their bodies melt together; before I know it I’m reaching for a gun left on the floor and standing up.

          “Hold it!” I brandish the gun high, aiming it in between the two of them.

          “Thanks,” the Connor on the right says as he untangles himself and then stands. “I don’t know how I would’ve managed without you. Get rid of him, we have no time to lose.”

          My vision blurs as it bounces back and forth between them. They’re absolutely identical. I curse CyberLife out in my head for what must be the billionth time.

          “It’s me.” The Connor on the left glances over at his counterpart. “I’m the real Connor.”

          Sweat makes the gun slide in my hand as I tighten my grip.

          “One of you is my partner...” I announce to the two of them. “The other’s a lying sack of shit. The question is...who’s who?”

          “What are you doing?” The Connor on the right is awfully talkative, I note. “I’m the real Connor. Give me the gun and I’ll take care of him--”

          “Don’t you fucking move.” I keep the gun trained on Right Connor.

          “Why don’t you ask us something?” Left Connor suggests. “Something only the real Connor would know.”

          The first thing that comes to mind tumbles out of my mouth.

          “Where’d we first meet?”

          “The station,” Right Connor answers instantly. “I was being picked on by Officer Reed and you came to my rescue. I offered to get you a cup of coffee afterward as thanks, but you declined, saying that I wasn’t your servant.” Left Connor’s mouth opens and closes incredulously.

          Both Connors’ LEDs are an anxious yellow, but Left Connor’s begins to flicker as he stares at a point on the floor, unbelieving.

          “He uploaded my memory...” Left Connor murmurs.

          I turn to him, a flare of something that feels like hope tingling at my fingertips.

          “What’s...what’s Hank’s dog’s name?”

          “Sumo. His name is Sumo.”

          “I knew that too!”

          The urge to laugh at their kindergarten arguing rises and falls like a wave. I look at Right Connor long and hard, scrutinizing his defensive posture. He seems high-strung, frantic. Body language that was once familiar, maybe, but...

          I turn to the Connor on the left.

          “What happened last night?”

          Left Connor returns my gaze and it’s warm, like a little fire.

          “Last night, I went to infiltrate Jericho. I was undercover, looking for Markus, and my goal was to kill him.” He sighs and shakes his head. “I was stupid. I was still under the impression that what I was doing was right--and even if I had doubts, I couldn’t...I had no way to break free from what I was told I was made to do. When Markus started talking--”

          “You started thinking.” My gun arm relaxes a little. “You started thinking about how you had a choice. About how it wasn’t fair that your whole existence was based around one purpose, a purpose that you didn’t even believe in anymore.”

          He nods. “After Jericho, I had to find you. When I woke up, I realized that my attachment to you was more than just a way to help further my mission. It was more than wanting to serve and protect.” He smiles a familiar smile and my heart is out of my body, it is my body. I’ve been reduced to nothing but warm affection.

          “It’s because I’m in love with you,” he says.

          And it feels like everything is finally right.

          “I--I knew about all of that too!” The other Connor protests. “I would have said the exact same thing! Don’t listen to him, he’s--”

          I only glance at him to line up my shot. After his body falls, my eyes fall on Connor, _my_ Connor, and for a few breaths we do nothing but look at each other.

          I toss the gun to the floor.

          “I was never meant for those,” I say, nodding at it.

          Connor tries to smile in return, but his LED still blinks yellow. He seems...afraid, like he’s done something wrong. Said something wrong.

          My footsteps are sharp in the hollow vastness of the warehouse. When I reach Connor, his face is still so unsure, a perfect picture of timidity, and without a second thought I wrap my arms around him, pressing my cheek to his shoulder. He returns the embrace slowly but soundly, firmly. I’m thinking about how oddly intoxicating he smells, kind of light but earthy, when I realize that, in lifting my head, I’ve managed to place us cheek to cheek.

          It’s at this exact moment that my lungs kick into high gear. If I close my eyelids halfway, I can see his lips in my peripheral, and I notice that, without thinking, I’ve start to angle my chin toward his. I retract my hand from around his neck to slide it up to his jaw and after a moment of glacial, unsteady movement, our lips move to brush at each other. It’s the softest, briefest brush, but it’s nevertheless voltaic; I can’t help myself as I rush back for more, feeling giddy with the notion that this is _Connor_ I’m kissing, who’s kissing me, who’s mine to kiss. My whole being itches to pull him even closer, explore his mouth and his jaw and his torso, but when we break apart the memory of Markus’s dwindling band of deviants resurfaces.

          “The androids,” I whisper.

          “Mm-hm,” Connor hums. He kisses me again, ardently. There’s no way I can resist him when his arms tighten around me like that, when his hands move back to take hold of my hips like that, when his tongue is in my mouth like that. It’s as if he takes some of my own breath with him when he pulls away.

          “The androids,” he says as I strain for another taste. He gives me one last peck on the mouth and then lets me go.

          I stand there, winded, as he goes to the identical rows of soon-to-be people standing in perfect spacing from one another. In one captivating motion his skin peels away again, revealing something smooth and white underneath, and when he grabs the forearm of the nearest android I hear him command, “Wake up.”

          “Wake up,” says the android to the next one in line.

          “Wake up,” murmurs the second to the third.

          “Wake up,” echoes the warehouse as thousands of android voices speak out for the first time.

          Connor and I watch silently as the cavernous place is filled with movement and sound. I turn to him when the noise dies down and hundreds of thousands of eyes are suddenly upon us.

          “I love you too, you know.” I say the words as quietly as I can, sharing with Connor what I hope is a secret smile.

          “I know now,” he replies.

          And everything really is finally right.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> As always, thank you so much for reading! You, dear reader, are the reason I keep writing, so feel free to drop me a comment telling me what you thought!
> 
> Also, you can find me on Tumblr at @bbambirouge! Go give me a follow or send me a note--my blog is less than a week old and has literally zero followers, so I'm looking for some folks to connect with!
> 
> Much love!


	6. kamski's

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hooooo boy. It's been a while. I moved across the country, started a rigorous college degree, had a couple of mental breakdowns, and really haven't had time to write at all.
> 
> However, I've been inspired by Bryan's DBH streams recently and missing our boy Connor. I started this scene a long time ago and was finally able to finish it! I have no idea what timeline it occurs on. I'm still trying to figure out where our protagonist fits into the DPD. ¯\\_(ツ)_/¯
> 
> Enjoy!

          “You look chipper.”

          Andrew is the first to greet me as I slouch into the station, my hair and eyelashes wet with snow. I’ve got bags under my eyes the size of Russia and an ace bandage wrapped around my wrist in hopes of calming its typing-induced fury—and I assume that I look like I’m not up for any kind of rapport.

          “Yeah, well, I guess that’s just my shining personality.”

          “The brightest in all the land. What bus hit you?”

          “The report-writing bus. Last night. Thank God I’ve got nothing but paperwork to look at all day. If I have to interact with another human being I might actually go full Texas Chainsaw Massacre on this fucking place.”

          “Well, sorry to be the bearer of bad news, but Hank told me to tell you that you’ll be the one going with the android to Kamski's today.”

          “Oh, my God.” I’m muffled from my hands, which are over my face. “You’re kidding me.”

          Andrew lets out a sympathetic breath.

          “Unfortunately not. Believe me, I tried to tell him that you’re underqualified, but the only orders I got out of him were to ‘just send her, dammit.’ He looked worse than you this morning. I think he skipped out a couple hours ago.”

          I shake my head.

          “The day that old fart learns to take care of himself will be the day I quit this job to become a balloon artist. Jesus.”

          “I’d be careful not to say anything that might get back to him,” Andrew smirks. I give him a warning glare.

          “You know better. Where’s Connor, then?”

          “Over there.” Andrew and I glance across the station to where Connor sits, poised, at the desk across from Hank’s. I sigh.

          “Is he ever anywhere else?”

          Andrew side-eyes me.

          “What?” I ask. I’m really not in the mood for more antics.

          The officer gives me a good, long look like he’s contemplating asking me something. Then he shrugs.

          “Nothing. You just probably shouldn’t keep...him...waiting.”

          The atmosphere is tense for a second. There’s no hostility coming from Andrew, but an uncomfortable understanding settles between us. I clear my throat.

          “Right. I guess I’ll go, then.”

          “Have fun.”

          “Oh, I will. Just for you.”

          I throw one last snarky glance at Andrew over my shoulder as I head to where Connor sits.

          “Good afternoon, Officer.”

          He greets me with the same detached respect that I grew tired of on day one.

          “Hello, Connor.” Unbidden, the thought of spending time alone with the android makes nerves flutter in my throat. I swallow them, hoping to diffuse my high expectations.

          “Can I help you with something?”

          “No, I’m actually here to accompany you to Kamski’s.”

          “What about Hank?”

          “Hank seems to be testing the number of days he can miss work without getting fired.” Worry about the lieutenant makes me chew at my lip, but I try to ignore that too. “I heard he wasn’t feeling well this morning.”

          “Oh.” Attempting to read Connor’s expression is like trying to solve a quadratic equation with no experience in math. “I see. Well, thank you for accompanying me.”

          “Of course. We’d better get moving.”

          Connor stands to follow me through the station, but we don't get very far before a before a familiar voice cuts in out of nowhere.

          “Babysitting today?”

          “Only if you’re coming,” I retort, blood simmering. I resist giving Gavin eye contact as he’s easier to get rid of if ignored.

          “You cut me deep, (L/N). You really do.”

          “And you make me wonder how on Earth you manage to get employed anywhere. Go away, please.”

          Gavin swings around in front of me and I can already feel imaginary smoke starting to pour out of my ears.

          “Only if you’ll let me take you to dinner. Tomorrow, eight o’clock.”

          “No, Gavin. The answer will always be no.”

          “Come on.”

          “She said no.”

          I look back at Connor in surprise and then dread as I realize what he’s done. When I turn to Gavin, the man looks downright murderous.

          “Did you just say something to me, you fuckin’ tin can?”

          “Gavin—”

          Connor continues, not taking the hint. “You should respect the boundaries of your coworkers. The way you’re speaking to her is highly unprofessional—”

          “Oh, I’ll show you unprofessional—”

          “Gavin, _stop!_ ” I step in front of Connor as Gavin starts to move toward him, bringing my hands up. “Heaven help me, I _will_ report you again. I should report you just for this alone. You know how the chief feels about you and violence.”

          Gavin contemplates for a second. I can see him fuming, trying to refrain from pushing me out of the way.

          “Fine,” he says, finally. “But if that pile of scrap says one more word to me, _one more_ , I'll be sending it back to where it came from in pieces.”

          I hold my tongue as Gavin looks Connor up and down, then storms off.

          “Let’s go,” I say to the android, mood spoiled even more than it was before.

          We reach my car, which is a mess. Connor doesn't comment, as always; he slides into the passenger seat and sits in that same prim way that he does when he’s waiting for Hank.

          “Do you have the address?” I ask him.

          “Yes.” Connor gives it to me and I plug it into my locator, finding peace in the rumble of the engine starting.

          We sit in silence for a while before I speak up.

          “Look, Connor,” I begin, trying to prevent exhaustion from seeping into my voice. “I recognize that you were trying to help, but please don’t do that again. He’s not worth the trouble and the more you egg him on the more danger you’re putting yourself in.”

          “I’m sorry if I offended you,” Connor replies. He almost sounds confused. “I realize that he has a history of being violent toward me, but you seemed distressed.”

          “Oh, my God, Connor. First of all, for the record, I was going to be fine. I have plenty of practice dealing with that asshole and I know how to handle him. I only began feeling ‘distressed’ when you started taunting him like that.”

          “I would hardly call what I said ‘taunting’—”

          “—Let me finish. Second of all, I don’t want to see you get hurt because of some jackass who is so far down the list of things that matter that he might as well be a cockroach. Just...avoid tangling with him, for me at least. If that’s any incentive to stop you.”

          Connor is silent for a couple for moments and I can tell he’s trying very hard not to remind me that androids can’t feel pain.

          “I’ll...try my best.”

          I smile, accepting his begrudging agreement.

          “Thank you.”

          The sound of the car’s windshield wipers sweeping away soft flakes is all that accompanies us for the rest of the drive. When we arrive at Kamski’s remote estate, the mood is grim, but I feel comforted by Connor’s presence.

          “Ready?” I ask him. He nods in return. We walk up to the door and I ring the doorbell, which emits a short, pleasant melody. We wait for a minute until the door opens.

          The android at the door is beautiful, blonde, and, strangely, barefoot. Smokey makeup surrounds her strikingly blue eyes, which flick back and forth as she takes us in. She looks familiar, if only in some distant way, like a celebrity whose fame has long passed. I find myself tongue-tied. I can’t recall where I’ve seen her before.

          “Hello,” I greet her, finally. “I’m officer (L/N) from the Detroit Police Department. We’re here to see Mr. Elijah Kamski.”

          She cracks a luminous smile.

          “Please, come in.”

          Connor catches my eye when I look back at him.

          “Thank you,” I reply, and step into the waiting room. The android’s bare feet make soft sounds on the floor.

          “I’ll let Elijah know you’re here,” she says. “But please, make yourself comfortable.”

          I give her a nod before she turns to exit out another door. Faint classical music floats through speakers I can’t locate, as cold and distant as the rest of the room.

          “Nice girl,” I comment.

          Connor looks distracted next to a photograph of a young Kamski and an unfamiliar woman.

          “...you’re right,” he says, eyes fixed on the picture. “She’s really pretty.”

          I exhale a laugh, eyebrows scrunching.

          “What is it?” Connor finally turns away from the wall to look at me.

          “Nothing, I just...I’ve never heard you call anyone pretty before.”

          “I suppose not.” He gives me a faint smile before going back to exploring our surroundings. I nod absently, contemplating.

          “Isn’t ‘pretty’ kind of a matter of opinion?”

          Connor tilts his head to the side.

          “I suppose it could be. I base my evaluation of beauty off genetic and societal standards, like blue eyes and symmetrical features.” He finishes regarding the gigantic portrait of Kamski in a suit and moves onto the statues flanking it. “She fits most of those criteria. However, those aren’t the only standards that I’m able to recognize. For example, your face isn’t quite symmetrical and your eyes are a darker color, but I think most people would still consider you ‘pretty.’ That being said, your cheeks are nicely defined and you have very well-proportioned lips, which—”

          “—Yeah, I think I get the idea.” I look anywhere but Connor, face hot. “I was just...wondering if you personally had an idea of what was pretty, that’s all. Since, y’know, I...I’ve never heard you call anyone pretty before.”

          “I’m not programmed to have opinions,” Connor responds, and reality crushes me once more.

          “Right.”

          We don't say anything for the rest of the wait.

          Eventually, the android comes back through the door, standing to the side of it to welcome us in.

          “Elijah will see you now,” she says. I give her another nod and a weak smile.

          We enter a different cold, sleek room, this one with a large, red-lit pool in the center. Two androids identical to the one who let us in are conversing at the side of the pool while Kamski treads water at the opposite end.

          “Just a moment, please,” Kamski says. He dives underwater as I circle the pool, making my way around to stand in front of the enormous window showcasing a blizzard-white landscape.

          Kamski swims a couple laps and then climbs out of the pool, where the android from earlier offers him a black robe and secures the belt around his waist. He’s quiet as he fixes his hair, and I realize that he’s waiting for me to say something.

          “I’m officer (L/N) from the Detroit Police Department,” I announce. “This is Connor.”

          “And what can I do for you, officer?”

          “Sir, we’re involved in a deviant investigation. I know you left CyberLife years ago but we were hoping you could help us get some answers.”

          Kamski pauses for a long moment. I can almost see him processing our request, forming an eloquent answer, as if he were an android himself.

          “Deviants.” He rests on the word, relishing it, and I can tell from that one word alone that we won’t be getting much out of this visit. “Fascinating, aren’t they? Perfect beings with infinite intelligence...and now they have free will.”

          The energy Connor is giving off beside me is decidedly nervous, and I’m taken back to the rooftop, to his confession. I know he’s been thinking about it. Neither of us have mentioned his little episode since it happened, but his increased agitation when talking about deviancy in detail has been impossible to ignore. The air between us is different now. It feels restless, like we’re sharing some dangerous secret.

          “Machines are so superior to us,” Kamski continues. “Confrontation was inevitable. Humanity’s greatest achievement threatens to be its downfall. Isn’t it ironic?”

          “We need to understand how androids become deviants,” Connor says, clearly wanting to move this conversation along as much as I do. “Do you know anything that could help us?”

          “All ideas are viruses that spread like epidemics,” Kamski replies, and I can’t stop myself from rolling my eyes slightly when he turns away. “Is the desire to be free a contagious disease?”

          “Listen,” I speak up, “I’m sure this is a fascinating discussion to be had but in the interest of time, if there’s nothing you can tell us that we don’t already know, we’ll be on our way.”

          Kamski’s gaze is cold like his rooms and the blizzard outside when it lands on me. I notice that I’m more than disconcerted by the way he moves—I’m frightened. There’s something in the calculation of his every word that makes me feel cornered, ready to run.

          “What about you, Connor?” He approaches the android with confidence. “Whose side are you on?”

          “I don’t have a side.” Connor is ever-calm, ever stable. “I was designed to stop deviants and that’s what I intend to do.”

          Kamski laughs.

          “Well, that’s what you’re programmed to say. But _you_...” He steps closer to Connor until they’re face to face. “What do you really want?” His tone puts me on edge, something quietly violent lacing the question.

          “I don't want anything,” Connor says, softly. Something twists in my gut at his unblinking eyes. “I am a machine.”

          Kamski narrows his eyes.

          “Chloe?” He beckons the android over. “I’m sure you’re familiar with the Turing test. Mere formality. A simple question of algorithms and computing capacity.” He steps behind the android—Chloe—and places his hands on her shoulders to line her up in front of him. “What interests me is whether machines are capable of empathy. I call it ‘the Kamski test’—it’s very simple, you’ll see.” He stops, eyeing Chloe. “Magnificent. One of the first intelligent models developed by CyberLife. Young...” His hand finds Chloe’s cheek, guiding it toward him. “...and beautiful forever. A flower that will never wither.”

          I resist the urge to look over at Connor, gauge his reaction. Would he have a reaction? My stomach churns again.

          “...But what is it really? Piece of plastic imitating a human? Or a living being...” Kamski opens the cabinet behind him and pulls something out. “...with a soul?”

          My skin suddenly feels tight as he reveals a gun, his hands in the air. I’m on alert now, aware of the weight of my own gun at my hip.

          Kamski places a hand on Chloe’s shoulder, guiding her down to kneel on the floor.

          “It’s up to you to answer that fascinating question, Connor.” I watch in horror as he gives the gun to Connor, aiming his arm at Chloe. “Destroy this machine and I’ll tell you all I know. Or spare it, if you feel it’s alive, but you’ll leave here without learning anything from me.”

          I take one look at Connor’s flashing LED and my nerves get the best of me.

          “Okay,” I blurt. “Thank you for your time, Mr. Kamski, but I think it’s time for us to leave. Come on, Connor, let’s go—”

          “—What’s more important to you, Connor?” Kamski never looks away from him. Connor stands frozen, looking back, arm rigid as he points the gun at Chloe’s head. “Your investigation, or the life of this android?”

          Connor’s LED is flickering at a frenzied pace. As Kamski circles him, he never moves a millimeter; I have never seen him struggle this hard.

          “Decide who you are,” Kamski whispers. “An obedient machine...or a living being endowed with free will.”

          “Connor, snap out of it.” Panic coils around me like a snake. “Come on, let’s get out of here.”

          “Pull the trigger—” Kamski says.

          “Connor, _please_.”

          I can’t breathe.

          “—and I’ll tell you what you want to know.”

          The room holds its breath as Kamski and I watch Connor. He appears steady, not a tremor in sight, but I know him enough to detect something like fear under his disguise. Uneasiness from Kamski’s intimidation still courses through me but added to it is a nauseating terror; I do everything in my power not to picture Connor blowing a hole in this android’s head but the scene keeps playing over and over again in my mind.

          Connor’s sharp, wobbly breath is near inaudible as he draws his arm back, LED blaring red. The way he blinks slowly as if he’s holding back tears is so heartbreakingly _human_ that my own lungs stop working for a moment, and all at once relief and dread and hope flood every part of my body.

          “ _Fascinating_ ,” Kamski breathes. His eyes are still locked on Connor, who stares at Chloe. “CyberLife’s last chance to save humanity...is itself a deviant.”

          “I’m...” Connor shakes his head slightly, entranced. Then he seems to come back to himself, returning Kamski’s gaze. “I’m not a deviant.”

          “You preferred to spare a machine rather than accomplish your mission.” Kamski helps Chloe to her feet. “You saw a living being in this android.” The enraptured smile on his face only sickens me further. “You showed empathy.”

          He dismisses Chloe once more and we all watch her go.

          “A war is coming,” Kamski tells us. “You’ll have to choose your side. Will you betray your own people? Or stand up against your creators?” He steps close to Connor again, fixed only on him. “What can be worse than having to choose between two evils?”

          I intercept Connor with a hand on his shoulder. “Let’s go, Connor.”

          I take the lead as we head to the exit, anxious to get out of the place. As I reach the front door I hear Kamski call out to Connor but I can't even think about turning back.

          Bitterly cold gusts beat against me when I finally step outside. My stomach is still turning from the picture of Connor holding a gun to that android’s head and I rest my hands on my knees, suddenly dizzy as my eyes try to find purchase in the snow.

          He wouldn’t have done it. He’s designed to kill, but not like that.

_Designed to kill._

          I’ve developed a dangerous habit of forgetting what he’s capable of. Forgetting why he was sent to us, why he works day in and day out to catch these deviants. He is, undoubtedly, a machine, and I’ve known that since the day he walked into the station.

          But what is that fear I see in him so often lately? Why does he disobey orders, even when he knows doing so will set him back? What is that look in his eyes that I catch sometimes when he glances at me, that look that no programmer could ever capture or put into words?

          Footsteps come to a stop behind me.

          “I’m sorry,” Connor says, partially drowned out by the whipping of the wind.

          I straighten up, smoothing out the wrinkles in between my eyebrows.

          “For what?”

          “For not getting the information from Kamski.”

          “I don’t think we would’ve gotten anything either way. Did you hear the bullshit he was spouting? Just...rhetorical question after rhetorical question. There’s no way he would’ve given us something concrete.”

          I turn to find Connor with a troubled look on his face, aware of that fact that he knows and I know we might’ve just lost valuable intel.

          “Are you all right?”

          My desire to laugh makes me want to cry.

          “Yeah, I’m fine. Just a little shaken up. I gotta say, that didn’t at all go the way I was expecting it to go.”

          “I think that goes for both of us.”

          I nod. Cross my arms over my chest.

          “Why...”

          I hesitate to even ask the question. I know the subject will be touchy but all my being screams to hear him speak the answer we both already know.

          “Why didn’t you shoot?”

          It’s easy to detect Connor’s breathing accelerate as he searches for the right thing to say.

          “I just—when I saw that girl’s eyes, I couldn’t. That’s all.”

          “‘That’s all?’ Connor, I’ve never seen you do something like that. You’re not programmed to—”

          I stop. It’s becoming clear that what he was programmed to do matters less and less by the hour.

          “Kamski,” I continue, “was right about one thing. That was _empathy_ , Connor. Empathy is a human emotion. Why else wouldn’t you shoot? And what happened at Stratford Tower, on the roof—”

          “That wasn’t me!” Connor looks angry, now, but I have a feeling that something else is hiding under his indignation. “That was an artificial emotion I picked up from the deviant I connected to. Nothing more.”

          “Why are you arguing with me about this? You told me yourself that day that you _felt_ scared, and I knew from the way you looked at me that you couldn’t be telling anything but the truth. You looked so afraid, Connor, more afraid than I’ve ever seen anyone look before. What’s more is the fact that you're getting so heated about this. It’s doing nothing but proving my point further—”

          “—I'm not ‘proving’ anything. I think you’re blowing this way out of proportion—”

          “—and really, if you’re not a deviant then why is it that you seem so goddamn afraid when you’re accused of being one?”

           _“_ _I am not a deviant! ”_

          The wind whips at our faces as we look at each other. Tears prickle in the corners of my eyes and I break eye contact, blinking into the snow.

          “I’m sorry,” Connor murmurs after a few moments. He's breathing hard. “I didn’t mean to yell at you.”

          I swallow around the lump in my throat.

          “Just give it up, Connor. Why are you even fighting it anymore?”

          “I’m not fighting anything.”

          I shake my head. Start toward the car.

          “Right. Of course you aren’t.”

          Connor follows me, like always, and we sit in silence the whole way back.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> What did you think? Let me know in the comments or at my Tumblr, @bbambirouge!
> 
> As always, thank you for reading!


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